The Unnamed Tale of Alaina Peters
by Hammsters
Summary: Five missing Protectors, two obscure societies, and one boy that can't be trusted. What does this all mean? Well to 16 year old Alaina Peters, it means it's time for some serious butt whooping. Now if she could only infiltrate the city of her enemies...
1. Chapter 1

**Okay peeps, let's cut to the chase. You're all sick of me by now, no worries, I'm sick of me too. I mean really, who needs to be writing so many stories all at the same time? But this story is a special occasion. A limited time offer. It'll be up for a day. A day to read and give feedback. Got it? After that, I'm probably deleting it, or just leaving it to sit at the bottom of my story list for the rest of time. Sound good? Okay. Now read on please, cuz I really wanna know what you think.**

I'm dreaming of it again. The day of the Division. I was only six at the time, but I can still remember every detail. I remember the names of every one of our neighbors and friends that left, not all by choice. I remember how the leaders from our city and theirs argued, debated, trying to convince people to leave, begging them to stay. I remember the adults' whispered arguments in the hallways when they thought us kids were asleep. I relive every second in my head often while sleeping.

"Do you think our parents will make us leave?" I'd asked my friend Tyce. He just shrugged. I glared at him. He used to do that a lot, and nothing had bugged me more.

"Maybe. But I don't understand why everyone wants to leave." He replied, fiddling with a puzzle he'd been working on that whole day. "I don't think we should worry about it. When we're all big, we'll make everything better." He added confidently. I shrugged, then mentally scolded myself for mimicking his annoying motion. We didn't worry much about it, that is, until it actually happened, because we'd never really considered things playing out the way they did. We'd never thought that his family would leave and mine wouldn't. The Division was a terrible day, but the real reason it haunts me ten years later is I lost my best friend that day.

I'm awakened from my dream by the sound of paper rustling and the floorboards in my room creaking softly. Most people wouldn't notice these sounds, they were so quiet, but I'm not most people. My eyes fly open, but I don't move. I listen a little longer, and here the door to my desk smoothly glide open, then shut again. It's a sound I've heard a million times before, and I immediately know who's trespassing in my room.

Slowly, so I don't alert him, I ease into a sitting position, and through the darkness I see the shadowed figure of a boy perched on the board at the foot of my bed. I don't make a sound, but his senses are as sharp as mine. His head snaps in my direction, and the only color in the whole room are his bright blue eyes. The sight of his eyes and the sharpness of his instincts only make me more sure of his identity. In the blink of an eye, the boy has bolted out the door, a thin, wrinkled notebook in his hand. I waste no time in taking off after him. The boy is fast, but not fast enough. Soon enough I've caught up to him.

I grab his shoulder and yank him back, and he responds by grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. I use my free arm to elbow him in the chest and break free of his grip. He begins running again, and I chase after him. Down the stairs and into the living room we run. I catch up to him once again, but this time he's one step ahead of me. He stops quickly and I crash into a wall before I can slow down. He snickers. I hop back to my feet and punch him in the stomach. He tries to catch my arm but I pull back before he can. I jump into the air and kick him in the chest hard, causing him to stumble back. I take this advantage to glance around the room for anything I could use to fight him, and slowly smile. He's made the mistake of leading me to the room where I keep my batons. The long, thick wooden sticks may not look like much, but they're useful in hand-to-hand combat and they were the first weapons I learned to use.

By now, the boy has regained his balance and is charging at me again. I simply step out of the way to avoid him. He barely skids to a stop and begins to turn back to me. I grab both batons and swing one of them at his head. It makes contact with a very satisfying _thunk. _He's disoriented for a moment and I quickly jab him in the stomach with the one baton while hitting him in the head once again with the other. His reflexes are quick and before I can move he snatches one of the batons out of my hand. He tosses it across the room then drops down and swings his leg out, hitting me in the ankle and knocking me to the ground. I groan and rub the back of my head. He leans over me, probably trying to take the other baton, but I lift my arm and hit him with it, aiming for the pressure point on his neck but missing and getting his shoulder. It's not quite what I meant to do, but it distracts him long enough for me to push him over onto his back. I get up and kneel over him, swinging one leg around him. I dig both my knees into the sides of his stomach, hold my baton against his neck to keep him from struggling and raise my fist into the air so I can punch his lights out if he tries to move. I'm about to hit him when I hear someone walk into the room, then groan in irritation.

"Kids, no fighting before breakfast," Our mom says, then turning and walking back to the kitchen. Beneath me, my younger brother Flynn smirks.

"You heard her Alaina, no fighting before breakfast. Get off me." I glare at him.

"Shut up fat-head." I say, smacking the side of his head with my baton as I stand up. I pick up my other baton, then set them both down on the coffee table where they belong. Flynn and I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table.

"Morning dad!" I say brightly. He mumbles something that sounds like 'good morning' and continues reading his newspaper and drinking his coffee. Dad's not a morning person.

"Breakfast will be ready in just a second." Mom replies, watching the toaster as if she expects it to explode at any second. Which, in our world with our mother's cooking, it very well could. The most important thing to remember when you live in this city is to expect absolutely everything. I begin tapping my fingers on the table for a few minutes until Flynn gives me the glare of death. Then I begin to drum my fingers as loudly as possible just to get on his nerves. It seems to be working for a while, but then he breaks into a mischievous grin.

"What are you thinking?" I ask cautiously. He just grins more.

"Oh nothing dear sister of mine." Somehow, this doesn't reassure me. I try to just brush it off and eat the piece of toast my mom just presented before me. A few minutes later, Flynn clears his throat and I look up. There's a worn old notebook lying open in his hands. Aw man, I forgot! He took my journal!

"Give me back my journal!" I say, reaching across him for it. He just plants his hand on my face, pushing me back, and holds the book out of my reach.

"Let's see, what have we got here. Fighting lessons, championship, graduation, blah blah blah. Division, school, history, yada yada yada. Beat up Flynn," He looks up sharply. "That's a lie and you know it." I roll my eyes.

"Yea, sure," I say, stretching out my words.

"It is!" He insists.

"Whatever you say Goldilocks," I reply, making another grab for the journal. He just pushes me back again, flipping through some pages in the book. His eyes light up.

"Well this one looks interesting. 'I worry about him sometimes. I still have nightmares about the Division. He'd seemed so scared. And now, when he tries to come back, he still seems scared. Is it really so bad there?'" Flynn looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. "I take it 'he' is Ryerson." I try one last time to take back my journal, and am unsuccessful. I slump down in my seat, crossing my arms in defeat. Flynn continues reading. "You sure do mention him a lot. Are you stalking him or something?"

"Heck no!" I cry. He laughs.

"I'll be the judge of that." He flips to the back and I gulp. A slow smile stretches across his face and he laughs again. "You are stalking him!" He's found the page where I keep the newspaper clippings. Every time he gets in the news for trying to come back to town and fighting the guards that try to take him away, I cut out a little bit of the article and the picture that goes with it and glue it into my journal. He was my best friend, and even now I can't help but worry about him. Flynn keeps laughing.

"Mom!" He yells. "Alaina's stalking the crazy kid!"

"That's nice dear," she replies distractedly, not looking up from whatever book she's reading. Our dad glances up from his newspaper.

"You mean the Ryerson boy?" He asks. Flynn nods. "What interest do you have in him?"

"Well, if you can remember back that far, we used to be friends with his family." I say irritably. "And he always seems so scared when he comes here, it makes me worry." Dad sets down his paper.

"Alaina, your studying in combat, which means one day you'll be taking care of scum like him. You need to know that that's all just an act so we'll let him stay." I want to glare, but I'd probably get sent to my room if I did that.

"So are you suggesting he's a spy?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. And a persistent one at that."

"Well, you've seen all the scars on his arms right?" I ask. Dad nods. Of course he has, he's been the one to take him in half the time. "Are you saying that's all part of the act too?"

"It's possible that they've been drawn on or that he got them on the journey here. We can't prove that there's anything going on over in the Castling's territory." I roll my eyes. I know he's never going to believe that he's not the bad guy. The hatred between our city and their's is too strong.

'Whatever Dad. I'm going to the gym to practice before class." Dad sighs and returns to his paper. Flynn hops up from his seat.

"Can I come?" He asks hopefully.

"No way, I don't want to be seen with my little brother trailing me around!" I say, grabbing my gym bag and my jacket and starting for the door.

"I'm not a little kid, I'm only two years younger than you," He points out.

"Yea, that's like a century in a teenager's eyes. You're not coming, end of discussion." I say, walking out the door. I hear him trying to convince my mom to make him bring me, but his pleads are denied. This is one of the many reasons I really love my mother.

I quickly put on my jacket, pull the straps of my gym bag over my shoulders, and start jogging. I have a car, but I never drive it to the gym. It seems to me like being lazy on the way to work out just starts out on the wrong foot. As usual, I'm the first one out. Everyone else is at home, eating breakfast or grabbing a few extra minutes of sleep. I seem to be the only one on the Combat course who really takes it seriously. I suppose that's the reason I'm top of the class.

Let me explain a bit. This place, it isn't exactly like other cities or towns, or whatever you'd call what we live in. Mostly because, other than the Castling's, no one knows we exist. We know all about them, our society branched off from theirs, but we've made sure to keep ourselves separate from normal people, and eventually they just forgot about us. Another reason is that in our little world, we all revolve around fighting, which is why Mom is so used to Flynn and me fighting so intensely.

It works like this. We're required to go to school until eighth grade. After we graduate, we pick a course of study: Education, Politics, or Combat. Then there are the mini-categories, which are the thing you focus most on. That usually determines what you'll be when you finish studying. It's like in college, how you have a major and sometimes a minor. Education has the most mini-categories, followed by Combat. When you go into Education, you can be studying to become a doctor, a healer, a teacher, a scientist, etc. You could also just choose to have no career, but that's very uncommon. The two most popular of those options are doctors and healers, which sound the same, but are very different. Doctors deal with the same kind of Medicine that doctors in normal places do like surgery, X-Rays, prescribing medicine. A healer's job is more intense. When they've finished studying, they're assigned to a Combat group, and they have to be prepared to act quickly and know how to fix nearly fatal wounds, because some of the Combat teams are pretty accident-prone. Then there's the kids that go into Politics. I don't know much about them, because those kids tend to keep more to their own group. I do know that they mostly learn how to debate and legal rights and things like that for if we ever get the Castling society to stop killing our Combat teams long enough to sign a peace agreement. I doubt that will happen in our lifetimes.

The last, and my personal favorite, is Combat. It has three mini-categories: keepers, guards, and The Protectors. The keepers guard the outside of the city, mostly to make sure that Castling citizens and spies can't sneak in. The last thing we need is for things to get worse and a war to begin. Seeing as a sixteen year old boy has been able to sneak past them seven times in the last six years, our current keepers aren't our finest. The next group is the guards, like my dad for example, who have been working overtime to make up for the keepers' laziness. They mostly keep the peace within the city, enforce laws, things like that. Last are The Protectors, the most highly respected group of people in the city. They're also the most exclusive of the groups. There can only be five Protectors at a time, for safety reasons, and hardly anyone wants to be one. Their job is by far the most dangerous, to sneak into Castling territory and act as spies, ensuring that any attempts to take or attack our society will be known to us before they can happen. While it's the most respected of the courses, Combat is the least popular, because of the skill, dedication, and hours of physical labor you have to put in to be good at any of the three jobs. That, and we're known to have the shortest lifespan of any citizens in the city. But every year, a brave kid or two, such as myself and soon enough Flynn, will step up and take on the challenge.

It's a difficult course to be in. Most kids put in up to 12 hours a day: two for studying different fight styles and the rest for putting them into practice. But nobody, not even the teachers, work as much at it as I do. I'm always the first to the gym and the last to leave. It's been that way so long, back when I was seven the owners of the gym just gave me a spare key so I wouldn't be waiting hours in the cold for them to show up, something I was perfectly happy to do even then.

It takes about four and a half minutes to run the mile to the gym. It's a nice day to run, with a nice breeze and the sun shining just right. I hardly even break a sweat. I shrug my bag off one shoulder and begin to reach in for the key, when I feel a hand grab my shoulder and pull me back roughly into the shadows. I struggle against them, but whoever it is grabs my wrists and restrains me.

"Alaina, calm down, it's okay." A male voice whispers. I stop struggling for a moment and look up at my captor, only to find a familiar face. My breath catches and I'm sure that for just a second, my heart came to a complete stop.

"Tyce?"

**Huh? Huh? How was that. This all came to me during an all-school mass, every single detail, so I'm not lying when I say that the Almighty wants you to review. Or I think he does. That or he wanted to at least give me an excuse for not paying attention to my music teacher's terrible singing. I hope you enjoyed. Now remember, the clock is ticking on your opportunity to review this story and tell me what you think. So do that now while you still can!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I stare in disbelief at the boy in front of me. It's impossible. He can't be here, the gym's in the middle of the city (we're literally centered around fighting), he's never made it more than twenty feet past the front gate, unless you're counting the local jail, where he's been on multiple occasions. It's their system, he breaks in, they lock him up for a day or two, then send him on his way. Until now, not a single thing has varied. I repeat, until now.

"Hey Alaina," He says, almost shyly. "Did you miss me?" I continue to stare blankly at him. I've seen him plenty of times before in the news, but I can't seem to process it. He's here. In front of me. Something about him seems different. Then I remember, the last time he broke in was two years ago. He'd been short and scrawny, awkward and pimply, Now he was much taller, an inch or two above six feet, and his skin was clear, except for the scars. He wasn't scrawny anymore, but was pretty sturdily built and had almost magically developed muscles. It was weird, to me at least. Taking in his face, I see that he might be very handsome if it weren't for a thin white scar running downward in a jagged line from his hairline to his eyebrow.

For a moment, I'm torn. Part of me, the part that's still the six year old girl who was his best friend, wants me to hug him as tightly as I can. The other part, the part of me that's a responsible citizen and the part that firmly believes that my dad knows what he's doing, wants me to round up the guards and have him taken away. After all, I knew him ten years ago. He could very well be a Castling spy. Unable to decide on one or the other, I let my instincts take over. Grabbing his hand, I flip him over my head and throw him to the ground, the pin him down as well as I can. He groans.

"Okay, first of all, _ouch! _Second, jeez Louise you're good at that. And third, _what the heck was that for? _I haven't seen you in ten years and _that's _the hello I get?" I glare and knee him in the side. He groans again.

"You know as well as I do what that was for!" I say. He shakes his head.

"Nope, completely clueless. Please, enlighten me oh Wise one." That remark earns him a thump on the head.

"You're a Castling! Probably a spy too. If I don't do this or get the guards, I'm committing treason. Not exactly the best way to get a job in Combat." He raises an eyebrow.

"You went into Combat? What are you suicidal?" I knee him in the side again. "Look Alaina, I'm here for a good reason. You really need to let me up." I snort.

"Yea, fat chance." He gives me a pleading look.

"Please, this is really important!" I decide to humor him.

"What's so special about this message that you're incapable of saying it from the ground?" I ask.

"Well right now you're making my ribs stab my lungs, so I really think it'd be easier to tell you about it if I'm alive." I loosen my hold on him just a enough that there's no chance of that. Believe it or not, they teach us just how to pin them in the way to make their ribs puncture their lungs, and I don't want to risk that actually happening. Like I said, I can't quite decide if I should trust him or not, and I'd like to keep him alive until I've made that decision.

"That better?" He nods. "Good, now tell me, or I swear I'll pop those lungs like a balloon."

"Okay, okay." He lowers his voice. "It's about the Protectors. Mr. Cast figured out-" he never gets to finish his sentence, because just then a shrill whistle pierces the air and the guards all come running. I jump off him quickly and allow them to yank him to his feet. Normally, he just goes limp and lets them drag him away, but this time he's not going down without a fight. He punches one of the guards square in the jaw and struggles to break from the grasp of another.

"Let me go!" He yells. "I've got to- listen this is important!" They continue to pull him towards the jail. He elbows one in the stomach and frantically tries to yank his arm away from them. "Alaina!" He screams. Finally, a guard pulls out a needle and injects it into his arm. His eyes roll back, he begins to sway, and then just collapses. The second he's unconscious, the guards continue to drag him away. I feel a hand on my shoulder; it's my dad.

"Are you all right?" I nod numbly.

"Yea, I'm fine. Go on and help them." He nods and disappears into the crowd that's formed around us. I watch as they drag my former friend away and shake my head sadly. "Oh Tyce. What happened to you?"

The next few days are fairly uneventful. I go to the gym, go to lessons, compete in a tournament, put another Tyce newspaper clipping in my journal, start the cycle over again. This time, they keep Tyce a little longer than his routine two day stay in our jail. He's reached the age where its possible he's got information, and they want to weasel it out of him. That, and attacking the guards isn't the kind of thing that can be let off so easily. This time he'll be around for about a week, maybe two.

It's been a few days since he was arrested now, and like I said, everything has returned to normal. As usual, I spent an hour this morning working out, and then during the five minutes I normally spend just sitting around waiting for the rest of the class to show up, I bandaged up my hands because I forgot to put on gloves when I was using the punching bag. That thing is killer on the knuckles! Class started just a few minutes ago, and we're reviewing for an exam we have tomorrow. Looking around, I already know a few people don't really have much of a shot- half the class is completely zoned out, staring at the teacher blankly as if he's speaking a foreign language, or not even here. We're required to go to regular school once a month, and I guess that must be where they're all off too. Most kids generally go in groups so they're not the only ones in the class.

"Okay, who can tell me the best way to ground an opponent larger in size than you?" The instructor asks what I'm sure must be the most basic question he knows. I glance around and see that everyone's still thinking. Looks like someone didn't do their homework. I raise my hand. "Yes, Alaina."

"Sweep the leg," I reply. He grins.

"Yes, exactly. Next question." He thinks for a moment, trying to come up with something good to ask. "Got it. Your team is up against a larger group. You're fighting two people and they already have the advantage. What do you do?" I raise my hand again. "Come on guys! What're you going to do if you're actually in a fight like this? Call Alaina and have her fix it for you." He scans the group and finds the one girl who is clearly paying absolutely no attention. "Lindsay, what do you do?" She looks abruptly away from the window she was staring out of and snaps back into focus.

"Um, right. Two fighters." She thinks for a second. "Would you…throw your weight back into one and use the momentum to bounce off and kick the other guy in the stomach?" She guesses, even though she already knows it's right. She says everything like it's a guess in case by some bizarre occurrence she actually gets it wrong. Our teacher, Mr. Bradley, smiles at her.

"Very good." He says. He picks up a notebook from his desk and begins looking over the page for something he could use for a trick question. We know he's found one the second his eyes get all big and his eyebrows do this weird twitching thing. It's the face he always makes when he gets even a little bit excited about something. "What would you do if-" Before he can finish the question, my brother runs into the practice room, panting from the mile-long trip from the grade school to the gym.

"Mr. Bradley? Mr. Jordan said to get you." Flynn says.

"Why does he need me?"

"They're calling a city council meeting. They need all the instructors and the upper-class students for it." He grimaces slightly. City council meetings always mean something bad happened.

"All right then. Class is dismissed. Alaina, Lindsay, come with me," Everyone runs out of the classroom and Lindsay and I obediently follow him out the back door in the direction of the city hall.

"What do you think this is about?" Lindsay asks me. I almost shrug, but think better of it. Shrugging still bugs me even now.

"I don't know. Maybe they got something out of Tyce, or figured out why he keeps coming back." I guess. She nods.

"Yea, that'd make sense. They've certainly had plenty of time to figure something out in the last six years." She replies. "I sure hope he's not a spy."

"Why's that?" I ask curiously. She grins.

"Well, he's kind of cute isn't he?" I roll my eyes.

"Nice Lindsay," I reply sarcastically.

"Shut up," she says, elbowing me lightly. We laugh and continue on our way to the meeting hall.

**Yea, I know I said I wouldn't be updating this, but this is my way of appeasing my friend mchammer4, keeping her updating, and buying myself more time on update deadlines for my other stories. Yup. So what'd you think of Lindsay and Tyce? Tyce is hot, just sos you knows. Well, reviews would be nice people.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The second we're inside the building, we're surrounded by people trying to give us advice or orders, or who just like to hear the sound of their own voice. Sadly, those last people are out of luck, because I can't even hear myself think in here. This must be something pretty important. They normally don't bother with students, let alone invite them to the city hall.

"What's going on here?" Mr. Bradley yells over all the chaos. Everyone quiets down and one of the guards that works with my dad steps forward.

"They've finally decided to put the Ryerson kid on trial, see if they can get anything out of him there." He replies.

"What do we need to be here for?" I ask, crossing my arms and putting on my best irritated teenager face. I was missing precious fighting time.

"In two years you'll be old enough to judge these trials, sooner for some students. Cases like this don't come up too often, it won't do any harm for you to sit in on one." _Oh, _I think, _I knew that. _Mr. Bradley smirks at me. "But I'm sure you knew that Alaina." If I didn't need his recommendation to get a real Combat job instead of some lame apprenticeship, I'd- I'd- do something! I'm not sure what I'd do, but oh it'd be something.

"So, how does this all work?" Lindsay asks.

"Follow me," the guard tells us. He leads us to a room filled with masks and surplus school supplies like pens, pencils, and notebooks.

"What's all this for?" I ask.

"The notebooks and pencils and such are so you can write down any information the suspect gives out that you think may be important to the trial. All who are judging the trial will have to come to some agreement on the verdict, so it's best to keep all important points in mind. The masks are to conceal your identity. Seeing as he lived in this society and still remembers many of our citizens, especially you Alaina, we need to keep our faces hidden. If he recognizes someone, he can use whatever connection he has to them to his advantage. The verdict most likely wouldn't come out the way it should." He explains, handing us each a mask.

"Seems more like an intimidation tactic to me," Lindsay mutters. I can see what she means; the masks look like something out of a horror film. The guard looks at us sharply and without another word, we both put on our masks.

"What's next, a chainsaw?" I whisper. Lindsay laughs quietly.

"All right, come along." He leads us to a large room made up mostly of really shiny wood. The chairs, the floor, the stands, the walls, the ceilings, all wood. We take our seats reluctantly, sitting on the edge to avoid getting splinters in the skin our shorts don't cover. The guard rolls his eyes and then goes to get the adults who will be helping with the trial. There are a few other kids in the room, all older than us and from a more popular course study. They glance around nervously at each other, occasionally whispering and giggling, all squirming like children. It's my turn to roll my eyes; kids from other studies are so immature. A long line of about twenty adults enter from the door (also wood) that we came through, and the whispering and fidgeting immediately stop as they take their seats.

"All right, bring him in," A voice I recognize as Mr. Paton's, Lindsay's father and the town's official judge. The rest of us are more like a jury, but with a little more power- we can ask questions and make comments or object to things. A pair of (wooden) doors at the back of the room open and my dad and the guard that brought us in walk in on either side of Tyce. I quickly take note that they, in fact, are not made of wood. That's new. Apparently, Tyce is resisting a little, because the other guard gives him a slight shove forward and he stumbles.

"Easy man. You're working with precious cargo here," he says. I roll my eyes along with half the people in the room. They reach the front of the room and my dad and the guard give Tyce a pretty good push into his seat at the stand then walk toward their own seats. "What, no hug goodbye?" Dad ignores him but the other guard turns and scowls at him, shaking his head. I don't blame him. Day care for a sarcastic sixteen year old Castling is not part of the guards' job description. My dad leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The two of them have to stick around in case the judge has any questions about his behavior. The first person to speak is a keeper who's name escapes me.

"Mr. Ryerson, I'm just going to get right to the point. Why the _heck _do you keep coming back here?" Tyce shrugs.

"What can I say? The prison food blows my mind." He replies sarcastically.

"Tell us the real reason."

"No comment," he says in a bored voice.

"Excuse me?" The keeper says. Tyce leans forward, resting his elbows on the surface of the stand and smirking at the keeper.

"No. Comment." He repeats. I'm pretty sure everyone's jaws drop and we all blink a few times. I guess after ten years without them, we've all forgotten how much the Castling's truly suck.

"You're not allowed to say that," another faceless person in the crowd says. Tyce leans back and folds his arms across his chest, mimicking my dad's bored posture.

"Just did."

"You need to answer the question Tyce," my dad tells him. Tyce examines a watch he's wearing, then replies, "Nah. I think I'll pass."

"Mr. Ryerson, answer the question." Mr. Paton says in a voice that leaves no room for argument. Tyce lets out an extremely emphasized sigh, then sits up.

"I didn't choose to be a Castling. My parents made that decision for me." He replies.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I blurt without thinking. I shrink down a little bit, not sure if I'm supposed to be asking questions, since I'm just a student. My dad nods at me to show that it's fine, that I have just as much right to participate as the adults. No one corrects me, but looks to Tyce for an answer. He's grinning like the Cheshire cat; he's probably recognized my voice.

"It means, _Alaina," _He says, emphasizing my name, "that I'm not the bad guy here. I know that what they're doing over there is all wrong."

"And what are they doing that's so wrong?" Some medical student asks sarcastically.

"Ricky," a person I can only imagine is his teacher says warningly.

"What? We know the terms that they agreed to, the government sends the Protectors to make sure they're not doing anything wrong, what could they possibly be doing that we don't know about?"

"Everything!" Tyce snaps. "They're doing _everything _wrong and you don't know about it because they know the Protectors are there! That's what I was trying to tell Alaina last week!" The room goes absolutely silence and it's like time itself has stopped. You know that phrase, 'so quiet you could hear a pin drop?' Well, this is a new kind of quiet. It's so quiet, we could hear a pin drop all the way out in Castling territory.

"What did you just say?" Mr. Paton asks numbly.

"They know about the Protectors. They have all along. Everyone in Castling territory does. Everything seems normal to you because we make it seem normal to them. But as soon as they're not around, our fun family sitcom ends and first class becomes first class and second class becomes second class and so on." He says, looking down into his lap. "The lower classes aren't treated so great. They don't trust us, think we have to be taught how to be a proper Castling. Every time I come here I bring my family down a class, but I had to keep coming. I had to." All eyes are trained on him. There's no questioning the sincerity in his voice. All the cockiness and sarcasm have left him. Something's going on in Castling territory, and Tyce can't stand to talk about it.

The next thing he says is barely a whisper and we all have to strain to hear it. "Please don't make me go back there." It's a while before anyone else says anything.

"Mr. Peters, Mr. Mason, please escort Tyce back to his holding cell." Mr. Paton says. My dad and the other guard obediently stand, grab Tyce's arms, and keep him walking towards the door. He struggles less than he did on the way in, but his arrogance seems to have returned.

"Watch it! Remember, precious cargo." They continue out the door, but at the last minute Tyce turns back around and looks at us. "He has the Protectors you know. Cast. Took them in last month." With that, he turns back around on his heels and saunters out the door. We all just stare at the door, unsure of what to do. Then one of the older boys burps and his friends all start cracking up. Well, there goes that dramatic moment. Once they're out the door, the adults begin taking off their masks and so do we.

"Well that was awfully short," the medical student apparently named Ricky comments. A few people mumble about it being a waste of time or whatever.

"Short and sweet. Should make the verdict come easy," Mr. Paton says. "What do you say? Is he telling the truth, or is he just trying to get himself out of trouble?" The first person next to him replies that he believed him, and then it continued down the line with everyone saying what they thought. Only about three people doubted him. Even Ricky, who seemed dead set on Tyce being guilty in the beginning had to admit that he was either telling the truth or a really good liar. "That settles it then. We've got to keep him around until we figure out what to do about the Protectors. He's the only one who knows what's really going on over there, we need that kind of information."

"Where are we going to keep him? The prison?" One person asks.

"If that's what we're doing, I'm not volunteering to stay over night with the kid." One guard says. Mr. Paton shakes his head.

"We can't just keep him locked up. I think it's been made clear, he's not our enemy."

"Yea, and besides that, he's still just a kid like us. Can't have him kept around the convicts, or he just might become our enemy," Lindsay says.

"If he's not staying in the jail, then where are we going to keep him?" Another adult asks.

"I'm sure we can find a family that will be willing to look after him until better arrangements can be made," Mr. Paton replies.

"What kind of family is going to let a Castling into their house?" My dad and the other guard choose this moment to walk back in. Mr. Paton smiles.

"Ah, Mr. Peters, would you mind coming over here for a moment." Oh no. I don't like where this is going at all. My dad walks over with a suspicious look on his face.

"What do you need?" He asks.

"Well, it seems Tyce is in need of a place to stay. I thought since you know a bit about raising kids and such and you were once food friends with his family, you wouldn't mind looking after him for a while," Mr. Paton says hopefully. My dad looks at him like he hopes he's joking.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"I have kids to take care of! Young impressionable kids that would be home most of the day with him!"

"Dad!" I am many things, but impressionable I'm certainly not. I know which side of right and wrong the Castling ideals fall under.

"Okay, I have one impressionable fourteen year old who I don't want picking up Castling habits and a sixteen year old daughter who I really don't want around a sixteen year old Castling!" This reasoning isn't much better.

"Dad! I would like to point out that I can easily kick his butt if I need to! Besides, if we did end up looking after him, I could take Flynn to the gym with me after school, he wants to go into Combat anyway."

"See? Your daughter seems reasonable enough about this," Mr. Paton points out.

"Are you saying you want that boy in our house?" Dad asks, choosing to ignore Mr. Paton's input.

"No, of course not! I'm just saying that maybe staying at our house would be the best thing for him. It's easier for us to take care of ourselves and keep out of his way than it is for most families." I can see in his eyes he knows I have a point. He was the top student in his class when he was studying, I'm currently the top student and Flynn's the only fighter who can come close to beating me in a fight. Besides, most families don't have kids in Combat who can just go off to the gym. Education and Politics students have to stay home and study, and seeing as we have no idea what that kid's capable of, it might not be safe for them to be around him all the time. I can see him weighing the pros and cons in his head.

"Fine. We can take the kid." Mr. Paton begins to thank him, but Dad cuts him off. "But this is only temporary."

"Of course, of course. We wouldn't dare ask any more than that. You may all leave now and Mr. Peters, we'll need you to pick up Tyce from the prison on your way home if you can." Dad nods and gestures for me to come. I get up out of my seat and walk over to him. Then we both begin our walk to the prison.

"How the heck are we going to explain this one to your mom?" Dad wonders. I smile a little.

"That one's on you Dad."

**That was intense. What do you think's going on over in Castling territory? I wonder... And how are things going to go with Tyce living with the Peters? How do you think Mrs. Peter's will take it? Please review**


	4. Chapter 4

**(nervously) heheh. Heeeeeeeeeeeey guys. Well, um, you see, the thing is, I've got this, um... You know what, I think this whole thing would be better stated in an indifferent business letter (we're working on them in school and I could really use the practice.**

**Dear valued reader,  
>I would like to begin by thanking you for taking the time to read <span>(insert story name here). <span>It means a lot to me. I hope you've enjoyed the brief time you have had with it. It is my great displeasure to have to inform you...**

**Oh who am I kidding?**

**Business letters suck and nothing is better stated in them. I'm just gonna cut to the chase here. This story has kicked the bucket. Gone to see the king. Hasta la vista, buh-bye, _no longer with us. _Got it? You got it? Now don't take this the wrong way. I haven't, like, murdered the characters or anything. And this story will return. I'm just putting it on hold until I've gotten a few other stories out of the way. You understand right? I'm writing _eight stories _at the moment, and since I'm in eighth grade I've got finals and sports and high school testing and graduation preparations, I just don't have as much time for writing as I've had in the past. I promise I'll get back to this story as soon as I can. But while I'm otherwise occupied, please check out my other stories, they're really good! I think...**

**Gallagher Girls:  
><strong>**1. Finding Answers (complete)  
>2. That Was Then- sequel to FA (in progress)<strong>

**Lord of the Flies:  
><strong>**1. The Fate of the Boys (complete)  
>2. Neverland (complete)<br>3. Teenagers (in progress)  
>4. His Sleeping Beauty (in progress)<strong>

**Misc. Books:  
><strong>**1. To Be Extraordinary- original story (in progress)**

**Later!  
>~Hammsters<strong>


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